


Those Who Dream of Flight

by Godtiss



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Crossover, Kid Fic, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:32:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Godtiss/pseuds/Godtiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Mycroft both have wings. Martin decides he wants a pair of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Who Dream of Flight

**Author's Note:**

> For [Megan](http://icarusing.tumblr.com)

The first time Martin is taken to meet his two older half-brothers, over the summer of his eighth year, he is struck speechless at the sight of their wings.

Mycroft’s are strong, held high above him and gleaming golden in the midday sunlight. He’s seventeen – intelligent and resourceful and a good bit intimidating, and Martin stares in awe until the older Holmes boy coughs and politely excuses himself to return to his studies.

Which leaves Martin with Sherlock, younger than Mycroft and only two years Martin’s elder. His wings are smaller than Mycroft’s, still growing along with the rest of his body, as black as oil and just as colorful in the light.

“Can I touch them?” Martin asks, stammered helplessly as his fingers stretch through the air between them. Sherlock jerks and spins away, dancing out of reach as he lifts his chin.

“You can’t just ask to touch someone's wings,” he informs, flaring them wide behind him as if to prove a point. “Mummy says they’re sacred.”

“Come off it, Sherlock, she said no such thing,” Mycroft chimes in as he passes through the room on his way up the stairs, cradling a cup of tea in his hands. “You don’t like being touched, but there’s no need to lie about it.”

He stops, looks down at Martin with a thoughtful purse to his lips before he kneels in front of him. “Here.”

Martin hesitates before slowly reaching out, brushing his fingers against the gold feathers of Mycroft’s wing. He bites his lower lip and smiles, withdraws his hand again quickly.

Sherlock huffs and crosses his arms. “Mine are going to be bigger than yours one day, My!” he calls up the stairs after the retreating form of his brother.

“Why are you jealous?”

Sherlock blinks, turns back to the boy in front of him. “I’m not.”

“Yes you are. But you shouldn’t be, because your wings are really amazing too. It’s okay if you don’t like people touching them though – people tend to break things if they’re not careful. Like how Mary broke my brand new spy watch last week. But I’m always careful.”

Martin blushes red and looks away. Sherlock, for his part, unfolds his arms and tilts his head.

“Why don’t you have wings? Father has them, and you’re his son too.”

Martin shrugs. “I dunno.”

Sherlock shifts his weight from foot to foot, wings fluttering gently behind him. He twists his head to look over his shoulder, sighs as though coming to some great decision. “Would you – would you like to see me fly? My lesson is in a few minutes.”

Martin looks up, eyes bright and eager as he grins. “Of course!”

His neck aches by the end of it from looking up, but Sherlock shows him how he loops and glides through the air, climbs currents and dives low before pulling up gracefully at the last possible moment. Martin watches mesmerized as black wings catch in sun and wind, until Sherlock alights next to him, cheeks flushed and smiling now.

“I wish I could fly like you,” Martin says.

“Maybe you will someday.”

It takes him almost two decades, but when Martin rings Montague Street to inform his brother that he is a certified pilot, he can hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice.

“You’ll have to take me flying someday.”


End file.
